The Further Adventures of a Deranged Phan
by Little Lathril
Summary: Yes! The moment you've all been waiting for! The Sequel to An Australian Phan in Paris has arrived! Now with 20% more crack. Expect in the first five chapters a sick erik, more bad news for our heroine and a fop with a crush!
1. Of Blowing Half A Nose

The Further Adventures of a Deranged Phan- The Sequel to An Australian Phan in Paris 

Aka: Phan 2

Yes! I'm back, with ore fun, mischief and adventure! In this amazing piece of phictional writing, look out for: An ill Erik, bad news, a fop with a crush and lots more!

Oh, and I think I wrote in the original that the ring from Erik was a blue diamond? Well, I changed my mind. Now it's rubies and blue diamonds. See, I can do that because I'm the authoress and I have that kind of power over what I write! Aren't I cool!

Erik: Now that's enough idiocy. Shut up and get this outrage to my morals over and done with.

Christine Killer.

Erik: Oh, that's it! Too far! (Chases authoress with a chainsaw)

Chapter One- Of Blowing Half a Nose 

Ah… ah… AHCHOO!

Sam rolled her eyes and ran forward with a large bowl of soup, a fluffy towel and a handkerchief. Erik glared irritably up at her from his bed and sniffled uncharacteristically. In the months since they had fled the lair, Erik had rediscovered the comfort of a bed. Especially when one had a cold.

Ah CHOOO!

"Special chicken, potato and leek soup, a towel in case you cough or sneeze it out instead of swallowing and… a hanky." Erik glared.

"Have you gone temporarily and inexplicably blind?" he growled through gritted teeth, "I have HALF A NOSE. What good will a handkerchief do me?" Sam set the soup and towel on the bedside table before sitting on the bed.

"You blow your nose on it so you don't have to sniffle and sound all blocked up." She explained, as if speaking to a small child. "You're so cute sick, you know that?" Erik resisted the urge to throttle her… just.

"I choose to take that as an insult." He muttered darkly and, unable to think of anything better to do, kissed his fore head. Erik found the cloth suddenly on his half nose.

"Now, blow." Sam instructed. A weak wheeze escaped Erik's lips. "Through your nose, dingbat." He obeyed grudgingly and Sam patted his shoulder. "Very good." Without looking, she pressed the handkerchief into his thin hands.

"Now drink your soup and sleep."

"Are you my mother?"

"No. That would be sick, twisted and wrong. Did I mention it would be wrong?"

"Yes." She grinned at his deep, mismatched scowl and left the room, skipping slightly as she went.

Erik's sudden illness had stopped them from going to Australia and The White Rose and the Nightingale had opened to great success in Sydney and Melbourne without its reclusive composer. Sam had dearly wanted to see her home, but knew the way women were viewed in this time.

She entered her room, crossing from the door to her dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a small box, which she opened. On a red velvet cushion sat the ring Erik had given her on the night of the New York opening of his opera. He had never told her what the ring meant, her inner (and very obvious) phangirl begged her to believe it was an engagement ring, but she hardly dared ask. Of course she had hopes, but they were as fragile as glass and would cut just as deep if shattered.

A loud bell rang, telling her that the mail had arrived. Sam ran to the front door, where a small pile of letters and such sat waiting for her. Amongst the bills, cheques and invitations, she spotted an envelope bearing Madame Giry's hasty scrawl. The women had kept in contact over the months, and the continents. Sam always loved it when her letters arrived.

Rushing to the kitchen, where she would leave everything for Erik to read (it was all for him, the lucky angst), she tore her envelope open and unfolded the single, thin sheet of note paper within.

My dear young friend

I haven't much time to write today, as we are in the final week of rehearsal for Mozart's Don Giovanni, and you know exactly how hectic that is. My girls aren't ready yet, even with a seven pm curfew!

Paris has grown quiet on the subject of the Opera Ghost and Death's Henchwoman, I think you would be happy to know. The corps de ballet insist that the Ghost will return soon, and mothers use your names to frighten their children into behaviour…

"I always did frighten little kids" Sam mused.

"What was that?" She looked up to see Erik leaning on the door frame.

"What are you doing up?"

"I heard the mail arrive." He glanced at the letter in Sam's hand. "Madame Giry?"

"Yup. Apparently others are using our names to frighten their kids into behaviour." Erik snorted, a brief look of pain in his eyes.

"I always did frighten little kids."

"That's what I just said!"

"What else does she say?" Sam looked back to the letter.

"Aminta and Tristan have gotten engaged… ooh! Nadir has been visiting Madame Giry… as friends of course… and Meg has a boyfriend! A young accountant's assistant name Nicolas-Louis." Erik came closer, inspecting the benchtop.

"A boyfriend, you say?"

"Er, yeah. Well, Antoinette wrote 'beau' but I'm summarising."

"I see." He sighed. "You look tired." Sam shrugged.

"Only a little. I was up late last night."

"Oh? What were you up to 'late last night'?"

"Reading."

"What?"

"Won't be released until 1991."

"What is it?" Erik sounded aggrieved. Mission complete.

"Phantom, by Susan Kay." Erik blanched. "Yeah, it's about you, so what? I like it." Sam reached into the shelf holding her cookbooks (which she could follow with reasonably good results) and pulled out a small book bearing the image of a crouching man, hiding his face in a cloak and wearing a fedora. She flipped through the pages until she found the passage she was looking for.

"Don't throttle me for reading this out, I find it beautiful. And you're going to hear it." She cleared her throat, and, in her best voice, began to recite one of her favourite passages from Susan Kay's brilliant novel.

_As I watched, she slowly lifted the veil back from her face, just as a bride does, and I was able to see the black shadows beneath eyes that brimmed and overflowed with tears. With trembling hands she removed my mask and let it flutter to the floor between us; then her fingers crept hesitantly to the smooth lapels of my dress coat._

"_Take me!" she whispered, "teach me!"_

_Stunned, incredulous, scarcely able to believe in what I heard and saw, I lifted her face with trembling hands and kissed her bruised and bleeding forehead with all the uncertain timidity of a terrified boy. And then suddenly I was no longer the teacher, but the pupil… for her arms were around my neck, her hands an insistent pressure against my skull, drawing me forward with unbelievable strength into her embrace._

_When her lips closed over mine I tasted the salt of tears, but it was impossible to say whether they were hers or mine._

It was at this point that Sam found she couldn't continue. Her hands were shaking and she really couldn't control the lump growing in her throat. She assumed it grew from jealousy as she looked up to see how it had affected the star of the passage.

Erik stood still as a statue for a moment, in which Sam thought she was going to have to throw a bucket of water over his head to keep him from fainting.

"That's incredibly close to how it happened…" He muttered suddenly, lowering his head. "How does the rest go?" Sam squirmed uncomfortably.

"Well… you die… in Christine's arms."

"Very unlike the truth." Erik looked relieved. "And for once, I think I prefer reality." Sam smiled weakly.

"Glad to hear it." Erik's lips twitched into what could loosely be described as a smile before he turned to his mail.

The doorbell rang.


	2. End Of Peace

Thanks guys! I'm feeling much better now, and i have to say it's more likely to be because of you all than my parents idea of remedy- pack her offto school, she'll be right. thanks mum and dad. those mountains of homework aren't exactly going to climb themselves...

**Chapter Two: End of Peace**

"I'll get it!" Sam crowed, leaping across the kitchen. Erik stuck one long arm out and stopped her, palm against the girl's forehead.

"No. I will get it." He said evenly, nudging her so she lost balance and he could sweep backup the hallway, collecting his mask from a side table. Sam heard the doorbell ring again as she narrowly avoided falling backwards onto the tiled floor, then the sound of the door opening. Really, sometimes it was more than aggravating, living with a Phantom.

She rushed after him, stockinged feet making little noise on the Persian rug in the hallway.

"Erik, if you ever, ever think of doing that again I'll cut out your heart and fry it in your bodily flui… oh…" she stopped, blushing furiously.

"Last week it was my liver" Erik said conversationally to the man at the door.

"It seems little has changed since we last met, mademoiselle." Nadir smiled faintly and bowed. Trying to cover her embarrassment, Sam curtseyed in reply.

"Nadir, you didn't cross half the globe to stand in a doorway and make small talk with that fool, I'm sure. Now why don't you come with me and explain what the hell you're doing on my doorstep." Erik finished sharply, making even Nadir, who was well used to his outbursts, jump.

"Erik, I don't consider her a fool at all, and neither should you. And what I came here for concerns you both, so she will have to be included in the conversation."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Sam grumbled.

"Oh just shut up and follow me, you little idiot." Erik snapped, baring his teeth in a wolfish grin.

"Which body part are we roasting in his bodily fluids this time?" Nadir asked drily.

"His genitals." Sam replied, exactly replicating Erik's grin.

"You would need a lot of bodily fluid" Erik barked in annoyance.

"Yeah yeah, you might've convinced the khanum but you can't convince me." Sam replied, inspecting her fingers. Nadir stared, impressed by the fact that she had outraged Erik into silence.

"Two brothers, experts in dirty cracks. Plus all the guys at the local footy club. Experts in even dirtier cracks. I had to keep up so I wouldn't get beaten."

They reached the small study, crammed full of books, including a few dropped in by friends passing into and out of her story, such as Myli, Cricket Spinner (who was in fact a self proclaimed librarian) and Sweet A.K. (who Sam had made squee like a 13 year old- a fact she was very proud about).

Erik shoved a pile of Sam's favourites onto the floor to take a seat, which made her squeal loudly in protest, Nadir carefully placed them on the floor and Sam made sure there were no covers bet up before perching on top of the books in her favourite chair.

"Now what do you want?" Erik snapped.

"Please." Sam added with a small grin.

"Well, I have alarming news… I and Antoinette Giry (Erik raised his eyes at Nadir's use of the ballet mistress's Christian name) had been sure that the hunt for the Opera Ghost and Death's Henchwoman were over. We were, it would seem, gravely mistaken." He paused to gather his breath.

"I found a file lying on the desk of the chief-of-police which had your name on it" he gestured to Sam. "At first I thought it was an old file that he was closing, and so I read it. It was lucky that I did. The chief of the French Police is on his way to New York himself to arrest you and take you back to Paris in irons to be executed for murder, extortion, you know the rest." Erik looked concerned when Sam looked over to him.

"They're not gonna get us" she said, as much to reassure him as herself.

"Of course not! With what I knew, I couldn't allow it!" Nadir protested, as if Sam had just insulted him.

"How's Madame Giry? I got a letter, but it was dated two months ago. She usually writes more often than that, even if she's busy."

"Someone seems to have tipped the police off about her involvement on your behalf in the whole affair- of course, as the opera Ghost's message bearer, she was always being watched from afar… about a month ago, she was caught posting a letter to you- the postman recognised the name from the paper and came forward to collect his 50 000 franc reward."

"Never knew my head was worth so much… maybe I should auction it off as a horror movie prop."

"Movies won't be properly invented for a while yet." Erik reminded her solemnly.

"Oh. Yeah. I forgot." Suddenly she grinned. "The first ever feature film made was Australian- about Ned Kelly, and I've seen the last remaining nine seconds of it, in 2005."

"Don't care." Erik retorted simply. "Continue Nadir."

"Well, Antoinette was immediately detained for questioning… it was a stroke of good luck that I had persuaded her to let me take your things to hide at my apartment." Nadir smiled. "Yes, she couldn't bear to see all of your beautiful things destroyed, and so she took everything she could from the lair without being caught. A lot of clothes, mostly Samantha's, some sketches and composition and a few other things."

"Is she all right now?" Sam asked, having a reasonable idea of what "being questioned" meant.

"oh yes, they never got around to questioning her. You see, that was my task, and I saw that other things became very important while I pretended to be questioning her. Then I let her walk. But that doesn't have anything to do with what I saw in the file!"

"It said you were supposed to have gone to Australia, and it was inferred by the police that you had either been and come back or, quote, "forsaken the damned burnt land for better, cooler climates" unquote."

"Bastards. How dare they refer to Australia like that!" Sam growled, thinking of the beaches and everything she had left behind. Erik rolled his eyes.

"So they aren't even bothering to go to Australia to find you. A very stupid blunder on their part, because it would seem that Melbourne in Australia is the exact place that I have booked a cruiser to, and where a relation of a relation has contacted a real estate agent. You will both be safe there… and of course, you won't be the only one's going"

"They caught you, too?" Sam asked sadly. Nadir nodded grudgingly.

"Losing your touch" Erik snorted and Sam reached out to slap him with an echoing thwap!

"So, when are we leaving?" She asked brightly.

"Tomorrow at 5:30 pm, but you have a carriage taking you to Boston tonight. You had better start packing right now." Nadir advised. "Madame Giry, Darius and myself will meet you in Boston tomorrow morning and we will board the ship together. We all have false identities, so that we can remain safe."

"No." Sam snapped suddenly. "I'm going as myself."

"You are going as Lady Emily Wright, of Lancaster England." Nadir retorted firmly.

"I can't do a Lancaster accent!" She protested.

"You'd better start learning it."


	3. The Carriage Ride to Boston

CHAPTER THREE: THE CARRIAGE RIDE TO BOSTON

"Why a carriage to Boston?" Erik complained for the ninth time in three hours.

"How else?" Sam replied, yawning. A second carriage trailed behind, carrying their bags. The drivers had been paid well and in advance, so no matter how strange the passengers, they would drive fast and without questions.

"Why not a train?"

"Why not stop complaining?" Sam attempted to copy his annoyed tone and only managed to collapse against her seat, breathless with giggles. Erik rolled his eyes and looked to the closed blinds of the carriage.

When he looked back, Sam was immersed in a book. "What's that?" He asked curiously. She threw it in his lap and pulled another out.

"The Silmarillion, by J.R.R Tolkien…" he murmured, before sitting it back beside Sam. " You've told me about that."

"Yep." She didn't look up from the new book. "And before you ask, this is Le Morte D'Arthur, by Malory. I love it."

"Very advanced language." Erik remarked, impressed.

"I know." Sam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her right hand and he noticed a familiar flash of red and blue. She was wearing the ring!

Erik himself didn't know why he got the ring- probably partially as a birthday present, to show his gratitude for all the demented girl had done for him, and, if he really thought about it, it was because, if he felt he wanted to, he could propose to her. But he still didn't know if it was what he wanted… from himself or her…

She finally looked up and smiled uncertainly. "What?"

"You've got the ring on."

"So I have." She was definitely uncomfortable now, as she turned back to the thick book in her lap.

"So you like it?"

"Uh huh." She tucked the pesky strand of hair back again as Erik leaned against the seat, trying to get comfortable. Honestly, these cabs were worse to ride than a bull could possibly be!

She did look quite pretty there, that exact pose, frowning slightly as she concentrated on the very advanced text in her lap, that strand hanging just over her eye, chewing absentmindedly on her lower lip.

"Er… what are you staring at?" Sam asked, looking up at him.

"You."

"Duh. Why?"

"Am I not allowed to look at you?"

"Never said that…" she slapped her forehead and the book fell to the floor of the carriage with a thud.

"What was that for?" Erik cried in alarm.

"I almost forgot!" She grabbed the small bag beside her and rummaged through it ferociously, pulling out a small paper wrapped package. "I got this for you… just a little get well present. I meant to give it to you last night, for you to wear to that gala presentation of your opera…" She trailed off awkwardly as she handed him the package, which he took warily, curiosity coursing through his veins.

Slowly, he pulled the paper apart and a black velvet full face mask tumbled into his lap. He glanced up at Sam, who looked terrified.

"It looks like I want you to hide your face doesn't it? Well, it's not that at all, I got it because your white mask is giving you terrible sores and black velvet is much cooler and more intimidating than white leather and…" Erik cut her off by putting two cold, thin fingers over her lips.

"Shut up for five seconds, would you?" He took the white leather mask from his face, staring at it. The air stung the rubbed places on his cheeks and brow as the carriage jolted through a pothole in the road. Erik jolted violently in his seat but Sam was thrown forward onto his lap with such force that both masks were thrown to the floor. Erik threw protective arms around her waist as they went through another pothole.

"Damned roads" he growled. "are you all right?" She nodded and, not leaving his lap, reached down to pick up the masks. The white one she slipped into her bag, the black velvet one she pressed to the former Phantom's face. It fit perfectly, the cool satin lining heaven on Erik's ravaged face. He felt the familiar safety a mask offered without the pain. And of course, he was astounded- this would have cost Sam three months of allowance!

(Authoress: Why is it that she has to have an allowance? What's wrong with a successful female making her own fortune? Erik: I believe your friend Adi would say it is because in my time we treat women as 'domesticated animals'? Authoress:shrugs: sounds about right to me, actually…)

"So, is it okay?" She asked nervously, knowing very well Erik's taste for perfection. He simply nodded, having realised the position he was in.

She was curled contentedly into his lap, he had his arms firmly around her and their faces were about three inches apart, his chin to her forehead. And, of course, he did what any self respecting Phantom would do in a situation like that- he closed the gap and pressed his lips very gently to her forehead.

The response to this was very different to what he expected. What he did expect (wide eyes and questioning, a slap, or a punch in the guts perhaps? ) we don't know but must assume that he was an idiot for not expecting the true response. Because Sam did what any self respecting (and those non self respecting) phangirl would do in that situation- kissed him back, full on the velvet mask where his lips were behind it.

(Erik: Damn. I thought introducing a closed mouth mask would STOP that behaviour. Not ENCOURAGE it!)

In the ensuing minutes, the mask was tossed casually to the other seat and they began behaving like a pair of lovebirds out of a Hollywood romantic comedy. You know, when there's the giant kiss scene with turning heads, rubbing lips and noses, gentle hands on jawlines and lots of breathing? Yeah. Times it by ten.

(Erik: GAH! Authoress:filing nails: you wanted it there. Not my problem. I got embarrassed by it and didn't write the mush and drivel you wanted. Ick. Erik: The passionate kiss scene in the carriage I drafted in your brain was not mush and drivel!)

We interrupt this muse/authoress bitchfight to return to the final paragraph of this travesty of a phanphic chapter, the previous paragraph of which almost made your authoress throw up because a) it involved mush and b) Erik was way OOC in it. Ick.

They were so absorbed in their own sexual tension that neither realised that the carriage had stopped- or that the driver had opened the door to hand out the lady and was staring slack-jawed at her in the lap of the maskless, disfigured man, kissing him very passionately. The poor man, much in need of a holiday and a pay rise having gone a very interesting shade of chartreuse slammed the door shut. Erik and Sam jumped apart guiltily, smoothed out their clothes and hair. Then they snuck out of the carriage, paid the driver (who looked as if he was going to faint when the black masked man pressed his pay into his shaking hands) and went to meet Nadir and Madame Giry at the dock.


	4. Come to Australia

Chapter 4: Come To Australia

Sam was first onto the Lady Grey, an English ship that would take them down over the equator to the sun baked Land Down Under, so eager was she to get 'home'. Seeing as this was about 110 years before she would actually be born (Authoress: Ok, fine. Get technical. It's 114 years) she wasn't technically going home, but that didn't matter at all.

"I have heard so much about the strange creatures in Australia." She heard some fancily dressed girl say. "Kangaroos and platypuses and koalas… and bushrangers!"

"Bushrangers are people" Sam pointed out. "They roam the bush and rob people."

"They are not!" The socialite snapped back. "They're fuzzy, bearded, wild animals." Sam snorted.

"A lot of them are animals all right, but they're not the fuzzy wuzzy cute things you think they are." She shook her head. "Some people."

"What would you know, you stupid pom?" The girl shot back.

"Lucy, Lucy, what's all this fuss?" A loud and jovial voice called. Sam shrunk back against Erik in horror as a well dressed and groomed young man came up to the girl.

"She said that bushrangers aren't animals." She pouted.

"Darling, they're not. They're men, outlaws." He looked over to Sam apologetically. "I'm awfully sorry." She shrugged, trying to look casual.

"Not a problem." She squeaked, partially because he was a fop, partially because Erik's grip on her wrist was a mite too aggressive for her liking and partially because he looked like Jesse Spencer!

"Lucy, come on, mother is calling for you." The fop and his sister disappeared.

"On the subject of dangerous creatures, have you brought your gloves with you?" Nadir asked, dreading the answer.

"A course." Sam replied simply. "And I know a song about dangerous animals- and it's Australian, so it fits this situation perfectly."

"Don't even think about it." Erik growled.

"Really? How does it go?" Nadir asked in his innocence on the subject of Australian comedic acts and the songs they perform. Sam grinned slyly and cleared her throat.

Redback, funnel web, blue ringed octopus

Taipan, tiger snake, adderbox, jellyfish

Stonefish, and the poison thing that lives in a shell

That spikes you when you pick it up

Come to Australia, you might accidentally get killed.

She sang joyfully, enlightening her companions in the ways of the Scared Weird Little Guys.

Your life's constantly under threat.

Have you been bitten yet?

You've only got three minutes left

Before a massive coronary breakdown!

Redback, funnel web, blue ringed octopus

Taipan, tiger snake, adderbox, jellyfish

Big shark, just waiting for you to go swimming

At Bondi Beach

Come to Australia, you might accidentally get killed

Your blood is bound to be spilled

With fear your pants will be filled

Because you might accidentally get killed.

"Remind me never to express an interest in a demonstration of a song I do not know from her." Nadir said bluntly.

"Never express an interest in a demonstration of a song you don't know from Samantha." Erik smirked at Sam's indignant face and Nadir's stern one.

"But that's a good song!" She whined as they went towards their cabins. "And there are other really good songs too, by the Scared Weird Little Guys!" And with that, she launched into another song.

(Authoress: If sensitive to drug issues, skip and just imagine Sam has sung a very rude song to the others, paying them out- Erik first, then Nadir, Madame Giry and finally Darius. Erik: Why me first? Authoress: Because making fun of/ annoying you is the most fun. Erik: Very nice indeed.)

I'll have a Big Smack and a Quarter Ouncer

A Diet Cocaine and Hash Browns to go

I'll have an Ecstasy Shake and an Acid Fudge Sundae…

"ENOUGH!" Erik, Nadir and Darius roared at once, terrifying Sam into silence.

"You will not sing another phrase for a week now, you little fool." Darius growled. Nadir, Erik and Madame Giry all nodded, having not understood the song but hating it anyway. Sam didn't care, she thought the Scared Weird Little Guys was one of the best musical comedy acts who would ever exist.

"O-o-o-o-kaaaaay!" Sam trilled in a pathetic take off of opera. It earned her a slap from Madame Giry.

"You will behave yourself." The former ballet mistress snapped. "You must keep a low profile and behave in the manner of an English lady, even when we are the only ones with you. I apologise for hitting you, but it was the only way."

"Oh don't apologise" Erik said cheerfully. Madame Giry and Sam slapped him in unison, taking a cheek each.

"I'm hungry." Sam announced suddenly, in a perfect upper class British accent. Nadir stared.

"I thought you said you couldn't do that." He said, stunned.

"I said I can't do a Lancastershire accent. Posh British accents are easy." She said, not slipping once.

"Quote the first sentence of Pride and Prejudice." Erik ordered.

She did.

"Quote Music of the Night." Madame Giry ordered.

She did.

"Repeat after me- I am a foolish infidel who doesn't know when to stop showing off." Darius said. Sam blinked.

"Darius is a foolish man who doesn't know when enough is enough." She growled sharply, her accent still intact.

"That settles it- you'll pass for a Lady." Darius said, signalling to Darius that no, it was not a good idea to discipline Sam in the way he might have in Mazenderaan- especially not with Erik right there. The ex Phantom might not have realised it, but it was plainly obvious to the others- he might have killed for Christine but for this deranged phan, he would massacre. Of course, the story told by the poor carriage driver who had come running into the tavern about a disfigured man and the girl wrapped around him tighter than a Punjab around a neck helped make up everyone's minds.


	5. The Love Boat

Chapter Five: The Love Boat

After a week at sea, Sam was less than comfortable. The weather was fine, making smooth sailing, but there was the ever so small problem of Mr Jack Durham, his far too interested mother and his vapid sister Lucy, a.k.a. the boat fop and his compadres.

That was the way they were referred to by Sam amongst the others.

From the first, Lucy had hated Sam, and Jack had been full of admiration for the fine Lady Emily Wright. She was after all highly intelligent… and wealthy. The money, in actual fact, was Erik's, of course. He had meant to pretend that he was her much older brother, but when introducing him to Jack Durham's mother, Madame Giry had made the unfortunate mistake of calling him Lady Emily's fiancée, Comte Erik. Luckily, at the very mention of the 'c' word, all questions ceased and Erik was treated with a sort of awed reverence.

Nadir and Darius were separate, an elderly and respectable Oriental gentleman and his manservant didn't really need the protection of an alias, to the consternation of the youngest of their group. Much as Sam loved acting, she didn't like the idea of travelling for three months and living a lie the entire time.

"So, Lady Emily, how did you and the good Comte meet?" Jack Durham wanted to know. Erik looked to Sam, his eyes full of both warning and mirth, before turning to face out to sea. She was alone on this one.

"Er, well, I was sent to Paris to visit my aunt Giry, and my first night saw me at the Opera Garnier. I fell and was knocked unconscious and when I awoke, I was in the presence of a strange man, who was, of course, the Comte. We spent a lot of time together after that, and the rest is history."

"oh, so this is your aunt?" Mrs Durham looked between Madame Giry and Sam. "There is no real family resemblance."

"No, not really. I look more like my mother."

"No you don't!" Erik blurted suddenly. All present stared at him and Sam was sure he was looking very uncomfortable behind his black mask. "You look more like your grandmother." He finished lamely. Sam shrugged, blushing with the compliment. Her grandmother had been very beautiful.

"I suppose, a little. I have her eyes, sure enough. Bright, brown and with a tendency to sink in when I am tired." As if by a script, she yawned.

"Dearest Comte, I cannot help but wonder why you wear a mask…" Lucy Durham gushed, fluttering her eyelashes. Erik stiffened beside Sam, bristling like a wolf about to pounce.

"It is a very tender subject." Sam began hesitantly. "Just a month or so ago… we were riding… on horses… in the park. His horse spooked and bolted when a sparrow flew in its face and the Comte was thrown from the saddle and dragged along the path… and his face was badly injured. It is healing, but everything was infected and very painful, it near on tore my heart to pieces with helplessness to see… he is still very sensitive about his injuries, and I just wish there was something I could do to make him understand that it is all right, and even if there is permanent and horrific scarring or disfiguration, I'll still love him forever."

Her speech was met with silence.

"And if that's everything, I think maybe I will head off to my cabin." Sam finished in a rush, standing. Jack also stood, very quickly.

"But you've not danced all night! Won't you, just once, with me?"

"Sir, I am very tired, it is now after eleven, and I am in need of rest. Besides, I don't think my…"

"One dance won't hurt you." Erik said, out of the blue. "Once it has finished, you can go to bed." Sam glared at him viciously but had no choice other than to follow the young American fop towards the band of violinists, who were playing a frighteningly slow and sappy waltz. Sam endured the torture as best she could before rushing straight for Erik's arm, and the safety of the cabins.

"She didn't say goodnight." A bewildered Jack was left to exclaim.

At the door of her cabin, Sam was bailed up by Erik, who trapped her against the doorframe with one arm, pulled his mask off and kissed her.

"What was that for?" She asked breathlessly, mostly with surprise. She got no answer. Erik replaced the mask and sauntered casually off, smiling slyly behind the black velvet mask. After about fifteen minutes, Sam thought she had the answer- her impromptu history of the mask, and her summary point, which she was quite proud of. With a tired smile, she sank down onto her bed and fell almost instantly asleep- a rare feat, especially on a boat, and even more especially for our young heroine.


	6. Seasick

**Chapter Six: Seasick**

Sam gestured for another bucket.

"I told you not to eat the prawns. They didn't look right." Erik said, passing the third of four buckets to her. Madame Giry was busy scrubbing the first and second clean.

"Its not the prawns" Sam grumbled, pushing the bucket away. "It's the weather. I don't like the open ocean."

"You weren't saying that yesterday."

"Yesterday we weren't pitching around like… bucket!" Erik shoved the fourth bucket at her.

"You know, your fop was asking after you this morning." Erik added conversationally.

"Don't care."

"I know. But I thought I'd tell you. He wanted to know what colour you were wearing to that on deck party tomorrow night."

"Black… and another bucket."

"That's what I told him."

"Why did he want to know?"

"He was hoping to wear the same colours as you."

"I'm gonna be sick."

"You already have been nine times. I never knew anyone to store so much vomit."

"I think it might have been the prawns…" Sam trailed off and looked at her feet. She hadn't had a problem with seasickness until an hour previously, when a storm had broken, tossing the boat around like a rag doll.

"Hold on a moment, I'll go and get some seasickness tablets." Erik said.

"Why didn't you do that twenty minutes ago?" Madame Giry snapped. "I didn't come here to wash buckets, I came to escape the French secret police!"

"And I've been throwing up!" Sam cried.

"How is it fair to put me through this!" Both women screamed in unison.

"Oh, I just wanted to see Sam suffer a little. Ever since she left seaweed in my bed, I've been waiting for my chance."

"Just get the tablets" Madame Giry groaned. With a swish of his cloak, Erik left the small bathroom in Sam's room.

"Ugh. This room smells of salt and vomit."

(Authoress: Ok, enough. The readers and I are getting queasy ourselves. Erik: Oh, but… Authoress: Too late)

"Excuse me, but you wouldn't have happened to see Lady Emily, have you?" Jack Durham appeared, adjusting his blue waistcoat.

"Yes, she's been ill. Very ill. Nine times."

"I see…" It was obvious that the young American fop didn't.

"She is seasick. The moment the water gets rough, everything she's eaten for a month comes up."

"Oh." Jack wrinkled his nose. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Stay out of the way." Erik scowled behind his black velvet mask.

"Well, give her my regards. I hope she feels better by tomorrow!"

Erik rolled his eyes as he walked through the door of his room, heading towards a small chest full of his medicinal ingredients. The seasickness medication he had made was in there. A month at sea! He was very close to losing his temper and Punjabbing someone.

His temper had held out much longer than usual. He felt very out of character.

Remembering why he had come to his room, he grabbed the tablets and returned to Sam's room, swishing his cloak all the way. It was therapeutic.

"Finally!" Sam groaned when he handed her two tablets and a glass of water.

"Well, it isn't like I'm going to come rushing for you." Erik snapped smugly. "And your fop sends his best wishes."

"I feel ill again."

"Oh no you don't!" Madame Giry cried sternly, "I refuse to be part of it if you do."

"I'm good; it's passed." Madame Giry and Erik sighed in relief.

"In fact, I want to go for a walk above decks."

Erik groaned.

"And you're coming with me- you could do with a tan."

Jack Durham intercepted Sam and Erik as they came to the deck, smiling brightly.

"It's good to see you up and about, Lady Emily!"

"Whatever." Sam groaned as Erik pushed past the young man, who watched them pass dejectedly.

"Have a good day…" he called sadly.

"Is it strange that I'm feeling guilty for hurting his feelings?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"Well, I do."

"What can I do about it?"

"I don't know." There was a pause.

"Can I go now?" Erik asked finally. Sam shrugged in reply and he swooshed off. She stood, looking around for a moment, wondering what she should do next. Jack was still standing there, watching her forlornly. It was slightly creepy, but also flattering.

She walked over.

"Lady Emily?" He seemed nervous.

"Yeah… sorry…"

"It's all right." Jack interjected hurriedly. "I… er… your fiancée said you were wearing black to the party tomorrow night."

"No, I'm wearing pink." Sam grinned, thinking about the horror she would see on Erik's face when he saw what she was wearing.

"Lucy is wearing pink too! Will you be curling your hair?"

"No. Definitely not." Sam shuddered surreptiously. Pink was bad enough without ringlets.


	7. Erik's Lessons Part 1

**Chapter Seven: Erik's Lessons in the Treatment of Women Part 1**

Sam opened her wardrobe with a heavy sigh, reaching in to grab her ruffled, pink, lace edged party dress. Her hand, however, connected with luxurious velvet rather than cool satin.

She seized the dress beneath her hand, dragging it out to stare, disbelieving at the cemetery gown from the Phantom of the Opera movie.

"How in God's name did this get in here!" She shrieked, checking the dress for booby traps, such as acid sprays and the like. She found a rather short note.

Have fun!

Love your ever helpful and caring friends.

Her brow furrowed as she pulled the dress from its hanger, crossing to her unmade bed and tossing it on top, before struggling out of the simple, cream coloured day dress she wore. Really, corsets were the world's BIGGEST nuisances when it came to dressing oneself…

Reflecting on the evils of corset wearing, and considering striking as she leaned forward to pick up the dress, feeling her entire midsection seize up. Twenty minutes later, she was still struggling with the laces when Erik burst in impatiently.

"The party has started, you realise, and you were the one who insisted we attend." He sulked.

"Oh shut up." Sam growled, turning her back to him and grabbing his hands, putting the laces of her dress between his long fingers. "Shut up and pull. I swear, I'm black and blue beneath all of this!"

Erik didn't answer, preoccupied with tightening her dress.

"You've put on weight, haven't you?" He said finally.

"Bastard." Sam shot back, watching his eyes light up in amusement. "There's nowhere to get any exercise on this mouldy boat!"

"This is one of the finest ocean liners of this decade" Nadir informed her calmly, stopping outside the door. "You look lovely, by the way. Have you lost weight recently?" Sam shot him a pleased grin.

"I ask her a weight related question and she's ready to kill me; you ask and she's all smiles!" Erik thundered, clearly confused.

"For all your allure, you have no idea about women, do you?" Nadir laughed. Erik scowled.

"For you, my dear." Nadir added, producing a single violet rose from the sleeve of his gown.

"How in the Shah's name did you get a blinkin' rose!" She exclaimed.

"I have my ways." The former Daroga said slyly. "Shall we?"

A twenty piece orchestra played Beethoven's Allegretta (sp? Well, my friend Cara won a competition playing that song on Wednesday! Go Cara!) and many of the passengers danced restrainedly to the beautiful piece. Sam found herself swaying to the music, one of her favourite pieces.

"Shall we?" Erik asked quietly, "I suppose it's only fair after what I said." Nadir nodded approvingly.

"Giving pointers, hmm?" Sam laughed and the Daroga shrugged.

"Anything to avoid a war." He said simply.

Sam and Erik swept out onto the dance floor- a section of the deck which had been scrubbed and waxed to appear shiny and welcome people to dance on it's near reflective surface. Sam hoped she wouldn't slip in the sturdy walking boots that came with the dress, but soon found she didn't need to worry. There was no way in hell, unless of course, the fancy took him, that Erik would let her fall.

Temptation did visit him briefly, however.

When the piece finished with a flourish, the couples separated, applauding politely.

"Lady Emily!" Sam winced as Lucy Durham's loud, grating voice rang out over the deck. It may even have echoed down in the hold…

"Miss Durham!" Sam rolled her eyes as she turned to face a truly horrifying (well, in her opinion, anyway) sight. Lucy was dolled up in the exact same dress as she had been about to wear- frills, lace, nips and tucks galore. The look of terror on Erik's face almost made her snort in a most unladylike way. She covered it as a cough.

"You look, erm… lovely, this evening." Sam choked out. Lucy curtseyed with a simpering smile.

"You do too, Lady Emily…"

"Why is she calling you Lady Emily?" Erik whispered suddenly.

"My cover story, I think. 'Else she thinks I'm someone else. Ask Nadir." Sam hissed back.

"Why are you wearing black? Are you mourning something?" Lucy asked, sniffing slightly on the word 'black'.

"Yes, in fact I am. I am mourning the loss of your IQ." Sam replied pleasantly. Erik snorted violently and began choking even more violently- if that's possible.

"My what?"

"Exactly" Sam finished dryly. "Excuse me…" She dragged Erik towards the refreshments table, offering him a glass of water.

"Breathe… just breathe." She laughed. He tried to do so, but quickly dissolved into a deep, booming laugh that made female heads turn wistfully.

"Dude… enough. You're starting to attract UFL's."

"What?" Erik gasped.

"Unwanted Feminine Lust."

"Oh, I've been dealing with you for over a year now, I can handle it."

Sam stalked off.

Oh dear! Erik has gotten himself into a spot of trouble now, hasn't he! Silly Sammy's ever so slightly temperamental…


	8. Erik's Lessons Part 2

Ala-ker...update!

**Chapter Eight: Erik's Lessons Part 2**

Sam huffed furiously, glaring out over the ocean. _Lust indeed_!

"Excuse me?" Jack stepped up beside her, leaning on the rail.

"Wha- oh. It's you." Sam sighed, rubbing her forehead. "He's pissing me off big time."

"Pardon?" Jack looked slightly scandalised. "I didn't know Ladies such as yourself used such language."

"Psht."

"I understand completely." He sighed. "The sentiment describes my mother and sister's effect on me, too."

"Really?" Sam smiled.

"Indeed. Now, how about you join me for a dance?"

"All right."

They joined the dancers, Sam noticing Erik a little way off, deep in conversation with Nadir. This dance was a string-performed waltz, and Jack was quite a good dancer. Though he seemed a little off balance and the strange feeling that he would be suited to a mosh pit crossed Sam's mind.

"Now Erik, was that tactful?" Nadir asked, exasperated.

"What do I need with tact? I'm the Phantom of the Opera!" Erik snorted.

"Not so loudly… you're not any more, you know." Erik scowled sullenly.

"No." Nadir sighed at Erik's sulky expression.

"Now, if you wish to keep her on your good side, and I suggest it would be prudent to do so, you must be slightly… politer. There are certain issues that women are rather touchy about and you have to tread lightly about them."

"Indeed." 

"Yes. Now Erik, I recall seeing a ring that you bought her… why did you do so?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"For what purpose?"

"Just a gift."

"You bought her an engagement ring as a simple gift?" Nadir gaped.

"Not just any gift- it was her birthday- July 20th, 1872. She turned eighteen."

"Ah…" Nadir trailed off, looking over to where Sam was laughing in the arms of Jack Durham.

"What is she doing near that fop?" Erik cried, lunging forward.

"Now Erik, perhaps we should approach this situation calmly…" Nadir placated him warily.

"… and she just ran into me, _bang_, so hard that we both fell over!" Jack laughed.

"Really? Who was she?" Sam grinned. Jack was funny.

"I don't know, I've never seen her before. She said her name was Tara, and she wanted to know where your room was!"

"Did you tell her?" Sam asked, grinning.

"Yes, she said that it was urgent, so I felt I had to."

Sam burst out laughing. She knew where the new dress had come from now.

"A joke you'd like to share, or is it a private one?" Erik asked quietly.

"E- What do you want?" Sam snapped.

"Would you walk with me? There is something I must show you, my dear. I think you would quite enjoy it." Sam glanced between him and Jack, deliberating. Erik began to hope he wouldn't have to kill the boy to make her mind up.

"Okay. Lead on." She grinned cheekily, offering her arm to Erik. He took it, leading her away from the boy, who watched them go forlornly. Erik had stolen his friend away!

"…And so what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry." Erik finished as they entered one of the upper cargo holds, where the finest pieces of cargo were kept.

"Wow… I'd say that was the longest, most detailed and elaborate apology I've ever heard." Sam muttered, stunned.

"And…" Erik replied apprehensively.

"I accept it." Sam grinned up at his mask.

"Good. I would have had to kill you if you didn't." Sam glared for a moment, then burst into tearful laughter. Erik stopped suddenly, by a hessian-covered thing. With a flourish, he pulled the covering off, revealing an ornately carved piano. Skulls, roses and cherubs glinted from the dull mahogany wood.

"I was going to surprise you with it when we reached Australia, but…" he shrugged.

"Woah." Was the only reply.

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Expensive?" Sam muttered.

"Eight thousand American." Erik replied, flapping his hand as if it were nothing. Considering we're in the mid 1870's when eight thousand dollars is equal to about 500 grand or more.

"Shit." Sam breathed, reaching out to brush the ivory keys. Erik smacked her hand away violently.

"Mine!" He snapped.

"Manners" Sam snapped back. Erik glared for a moment, before turning away, shaking visibly. Sam shifted her head slightly to see his hands twitching as if holding an imaginary rope.

"Now now, that's not very nice." She tutted, shaking her head.

"Shut up." Erik said pleasantly. There was another long silence.

"Play something?" Sam asked suddenly.

"Manners." Erik shot back sarcastically.

"All right, all right, no need to be so snitchy!" Sam laughed, "Will you please play something, honourable, great masked maestro?" Erik snorted, pretending to cough to hide an uncharacteristic outburst of laughter.

"Well, if you put it that way…" Erik replied, sitting before the grand, gothic piano with a flourish. His fingers lay against the keys as if they belonged there and suddenly…

The music that emanated from the inner workings of the piano were… there was really no way to describe it. The notes spiralled around Sam's head, the haunting melody of _Fur Elise _heightened to a greatness beyond what Beethoven himself could have imagined by the brilliant playing of the Phantom.

He looked over to see that Sam had sat down, leaning against the leg of the piano, her eyes closed in rapture. He knew she loved the piece, it was the reason he'd chosen to play it. To tell the truth, Fur Elise was a little to fluffy for him… a lover's tune. With his eyes narrowed, he changed the tune, picking it out from a vague memory of a song he'd heard her play- meant for electric guitars and drums, but still, he had to admit that the song sounded okay on this piano.

Sam's rapturous grin widened as she picked up the tune and started humming along.

(She's humming, okay? I'm just giving you the words.)

_My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me  
So won't you kill me  
So I die happy.  
My heart is yours to fill or burst  
To break or bury  
Or wear as jewellery  
Whichever you prefer._

Erik stopped, letting the notes linger in the air. "You sound ridiculous." He notified the girl who had turned to singing the second verse softly.

"Well, it's not exactly meant to be sung by a girl." She replied, sounding defensive.

"What's it called anyway? Don't like it, the tune was stuck in my head." Erik added the second part hurriedly, as if to assure her – and himself- of the truth in the statement.

"_Hands Down_. Sung by Dashboard Confessional. Love them." Sam grinned, still lost in the music. "Where did my CD player go, anyway?"

"I believe it was destroyed beneath a horse's hooves in Rome." Erik answered, a little too eagerly. He'd been glad to see the monstrosity disappear forever.

"Oh yeah!" Sam replied, a little saddened at the memory. She shrugged after a moment. "Play something else?"

Erik shrugged and tested a few keys. A dark, brooding song had been developing in his head over the last couple of days and he wanted to try it out. Slowly, the heavy, sad notes came out, swiftly turning into a frustrated, hesitant song. Sam, tired of the uneven floor, got up, levering herself onto the top of the piano. Erik's eyes were closed in concentration, so he didn't notice.

He hit a wrong note and swore, then before he could hit the right note, it played, loud and clear. He looked down to see Sam's boot hovering just above the key.

"Sorry." She said sheepishly, ducking her head. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, not really annoyed, more noting it as another example of the insanity of his young… what? She wasn't his houseguest anymore. Nor could he call her his friend…

_Saviour?_

The word popped out of nowhere.

_She is not… is she?_ He asked the mysterious little voice.

_I don't know, I'm just an ingenious plot device. Call me Cal._ The voice replied in a heavy Brogue accent.

_What?_

Never mind.

Erik sighed, it was further proof that he really was going insane. Hell, being trapped on this boat was enough to send any self respecting Phantom over the edge!

"Give up, huh?" Sam's eyes were full of laughter.

"No. Not at all."

She yawned. "Whoops… tired… kinda."

"How can you be tired, you spent the whole day lounging around in your room." Erik argued.

She looked down at him archly. "Now, monsieur le fantome, I must tell you that writing is a very, very important and difficult task. Especially when one has writer's block. I have every reason to be dead on my feet… if I was on my feet, that is…" She trailed off in another violent yawn, sliding off the piano. Erik was a little disappointed. She had looked somewhat amusing perched on top of his piano.

"Escort me to my room?" She asked, holding out her hand.

"Of course." He bowed slightly.

They walked arm in arm to her room, sharing their dislike for Lucy Durham.

"Shes a menace! Worse, a Mary Sue!" Sam cried, laughing.

"Hush! Don't say that so loudly! Your Freaky Friends will be descending on us any second." Erik growled.

"Oh, enjoying my company alone are we?"

They reached the door before he had a chance to answer scathingly.

"Well… night." Sam grinned, trying the door. It was locked.

"Spammit! I knew I forgot something!" She smacked herself in the forehead violently.

"What are you talking about?" Erik stared, horrified. That hit looked as if it would have been very painful.

"I locked my keys in there." She replied simply. "I'm going to have to find somewhere else to sleep… perhaps Jack Durham would take me in?" She laughed outright at the look of murderous rage on Erik's face. "Joking. One hundred and seventy five thousand percent joking (whew, can't believe I just typed all of that out!)"

Erik's rage relaxed only very slightly… until she reached up to brush her lips across the black velvet of his mask, where his lips would have been visible if he still wore the white leather half mask.

"You can come into my room for the night- only tonight though." He replied sternly, still angry.

"Yay!" She rushed off in the direction of Erik's room.

"Ugh!" The bed's all cold and smells like my brother's sneakers!" She complained, lifting the covers.

"Well, it's not like I sleep in there." Erik replied, making an expression that, on a person who had a nose, would have included a nose wrinkle. His was more a half nose wrinkle.

"Where do you sleep?" He pointed to an elegant chaise lounge.

"Perfect!" She dragged a folded sheet out of a half opened chest and lay on the velvet seat, pulling a cushion under her head. "Night."

Erik growled, moving towards the bed. He had no idea why it smelt so… until he realised he had been hiding nearly every meal that had been forced on him in a month and a half under it.

It took him an hour to fix everything- clean up the food, throw it out of the small circular window-y thing… porthole, that was it, change the sheets and make the damned bed. When he slid under the cotton sheets (fine Egyptian cotton, of course), it was cold. Freezing, in fact!

He got up, dragging Sam off the chaise lounge, staggering over towards the bed and laying her out like a doll. He had been right, she had put on weight. Perhaps he'd lock her in the lower cargo hold with the rats for a few hours. She'd get some great exercise then. He grinned wickedly, sliding in beside her.

There, perfect, the bed was warm now. Usually he didn't care, but now, thrown in amongst people, he found he didn't mind the company. She shifted, eyes half opening, but seeming not to register the change in situation. Half asleep, her arm snuck over his thin abdomen, as if clutching at a favourite teddy for comfort. Her long dark hair rested against his arm as she nestled down, breathing lightly. From his night time wanderings, he knew she usually snored.

The boat rocked gently, luring him towards the brink of sleep, until finally, he toppled over, letting everything slide into black…

_Hands Down belongs to Dashboard Confessional  
Fur Elise belongs to whoever's in charge of ol' Beethoven's stuff now that he's been dead a few centuries..._


	9. The Riot Act

Well, this cliché was inevitable…blame Cal. And Sanne. But it's very tame… muchly indeed. Meh. I can't write… well, here's a phanphiction cliché, handled in my own abstract way… enjoy. (winks)

**Chapter Nine: The Riot Act.**  
Sam awoke around three am to find her head on a thin, bare chest. She was still wearing her black dress, boots and all, on a comfortable mattress, under a thick blanket with none other than Erik. She blinked a few times at the absurdity of the situation.

She rolled unwillingly, pulling her boots off as she sat up, loosening the back of the dress. It was ever so slightly uncomfortable, and if she was going to sleep the rest of the night, it had to come off. As the black velvet slipped down, crumpling on the floor, she shivered. Her corset and chemise were a little thin.

"Ungh." She moaned, rolling back… and hitting her head on Erik's shoulder as he sat up.

"That was very refined." He groaned, rubbing the shoulder and grimacing. Sam could see his ravaged face in the very dim moonlight coming through the porthole. "You woke me up."

"Oh. Sorry." Sam was blushing, and very glad he couldn't see her properly, in her underwear as she was. The chemise fell to her knees, but still, the fact she was in his bed at all was enough to make her blush.

"Where's your dress gone?" He asked, recoiling slightly.

"You wanna sleep in that? It was so uncomfortable, I woke up."

"Oh." Erik's head fell back on his pillow. Sam lay beside him, not touching him. An aggravated growl escaped him, and one long, thin arm shot out, around her, pulling her close. "It's warmer this way." He announced.

"I thought you didn't care for this." Sam murmured, surprised. Erik shrugged beneath her cheek. She smiled, and leaned up, one arm draped across his chest to kiss him firmly on the cheek, purposely choosing his deformed side. His eyes closed and a sigh escaped his lips, bearing her name.

He pulled her to his lips, kissing her fervently, one hand on her cheek, the other snaking up, over her ribs, to hold her side firmly. When that hand went to the laces of her corset, Sam jumped back in surprise.

"Umm…" She was bright red.

Erik just pulled her down to him again.

_(Fade…) (Sanne: What, don't you think that's a little… suggestive? Cal: It's all right. We used a fade. That way, we imply that something happened but it's not implicit. Sanne: They're listening. Sanne: Oh spammit.)_

There was a knock at the door.

"What is it?" Erik grunted darkly.

"Erik? Have you seen Miss Samantha anywhere?" Nadir's voice echoed from the other side of the door.

"She's umm… she's occupied." Erik called, hugging the sleeping girl closer to him.

"Oh." Erik could almost hear the realisation in the Daroga's voice. "Erik, I will need to speak with you later, I think." He could hear the aged Persian's footsteps as he walked away.

"We're in for it." Erik murmured, looking down at Sam's peaceful face, pulling the blanket up where it had slipped from one bare shoulder.

"Now Erik, will you explain to me once more what on earth she was doing in your room last night." Madame Giry asked sternly, glaring at the former Phantom. She was placing all blame squarely with him.

"She'd locked her keys in her room, I offered her room in my bed!" Erik cried in protest.

"This is true, I had Darius unlock the door."

"You broke into my room?" Sam shrieked, perched on Madame Giry's bed in the room next to her own.

"No, I had Darius break into your room. I am old now, my dear. My hands shake too much for that kind of delicate work." Sam scowled.

"Did you do anything?" Madame Giry growled. Sam's blush answered her.

"Take that as a yes." Erik said, pointing at the girl, who grimaced slightly. As if they weren't in enough trouble! Madame Giry and Nadir stared at Erik in twin looks of horror.

"Well it wasn't all my fault!" Erik protested, looking back up to Sam, who squirmed. It was almost funny to watch her embarrassment.

"I hold you entirely to blame!" Madame Giry cried, standing up, her French accent becoming thicker as her fury increased.

"Do you understand what you've done at all?" She continued, shrieking.

"Madame, please." Nadir put a hand on her shoulder. "Getting worked up will not help the situation."

"Worked up? He slept with her! She slept with him! What were the two of you thinking!" Madame Giry fell silent, gasping.

Sam squeaked.

"Madame, let me handle this." Nadir murmured, gently pushing the stern woman into her seat.

"You understand the seriousness of your actions? In your time, Miss Samantha, maybe it is socially acceptable in your time, but now… it's not." He said, completely serious.

"Oh, come on Nadir, don't be such a prude." Erik snorted. One of Nadir's silvery eyebrows went up.

"You'll have to marry her now. What if she's pregnant?" Madame Giry snapped.

"Don't I have any say in this?" Erik and Sam gasped in unison.

"Not that I wouldn't…" Sam added lamely, what was visible of her face over the top of Madame Giry's pillow reddening even more.

"Damn social conventions." Erik muttered. "I hate people."

"Erik…" Nadir warned. "Myself and Madame Giry have discussed this at length, and we have come to a conclusion about what must be done." He looked around at the three other people in the room. "Madame Giry is Samantha's guardian on this journey, and I am concerned with both of your welfare, so this does concern us."

"There is to be no physical contact between the two of you, unless you are in company. You will not be allowed to be alone together, and myself, Darius or Madame Giry will make ourselves present whenever you try."

"Oh come on!" Sam cried, reappearing. She had forgotten her mortification in her newfound indignation.

"Yes." Nadir said sternly, dropping his head, to stare directly into her eyes. "We will not condone it. What if somebody found out? Do you think you would be able to just get away with it? You're not married, and have no plans of wedding." He sighed.

"Our decision is final."

"Right. Thankyou Nadir. Your concern is thoughtful, but you must be insane if you think you can tell me what I will do, you are sorely mistaken." Erik smirked through his mask.

"Erik, it will only take a slip of the tongue to reveal your identity."

"You wouldn't!" Sam and Erik cried in unison.

"Well, no, but I am tempted."

Sam stood, her pale cream day dress swishing around her feet as she did so.

"Right, I've had enough of this. I'm outta here." She growled, storming through the door. Erik stood too.

"So am I." He started towards the door, before turning to face Nadir, his eyes burning with fury. "And don't worry, I'll go in the opposite direction to her. You should thank your lucky stars she cares for your life, Nadir. My patience is running thin with your interference in my life."

The door slammed.

"Well…" Nadir started awkwardly. "That went well."


	10. An Unexpected Decision

**Chapter Ten: An Unexpected Decision.**  
_(2 weeks after the Riot Act)_

Sam sat between Lucy Durham and her mother, attempting to make polite conversation. In truth, she really wasn't any good at it. And the mournful music emanating from Erik's violin was very distracting. She was sure he was doing it on purpose. Hell, he had been for two weeks now!

Plus, that morning, she had not been able to find the beautiful ring Erik had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She had wanted to see it again; it had been a week since she had looked at it. She was worried.

"So, I said to her, that shade of yellow isn't quite right for your complexion. And she glared at me!" Lucy seemed genuinely not to understand why.

"Well, maybe she liked that colour, and didn't care." Sam said. Lucy and Mrs. Durham looked at her as if she was insane.

"Why? How could she not care?" Lucy looked horrified. "There's nothing worse than bad fashion."

_She'd get on with Jacques_. Sam thought. "What about death? Jail? Writer's block?" Her voice became shriller with each suggestion. Mrs. Durham's expression changed to one of pity.

"It's being engaged to a man who can't show his face, mark my words. It's affecting her psychologically. As I've said before, and I'll say again. A man who can't show his face, who is that insecure, shouldn't get a wife over healthy, confident young men. Like my Jack." Lucy nodded in agreement.

"I mean, you've even picked up his habit of wearing black outside funerals" Lucy said, smiling in a way that may have been intended to make Sam believe they were friends. Erik had stopped playing his violin and was listening intently. Sam felt bad for him.

"That happens to be a very nice dress." Sam countered, eyebrows furrowed. "And it's, surprisingly, the only fully black dress I own." She grinned at Lucy's frown.

"But Jack said you were going to wear pink." Lucy's frown deepened.

"Yep…"

"But I wouldn't have allowed it." Erik said easily, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing it.

"Oh really? Why? Pink is a lovely colour for a girl." Mrs Durham took her turn at frowning. She was confused.

"But it's so very common, don't you think? There are so many other colours and shades out there, why do all girls have to wear pink?" Niether of the dreadful duet could answer him.

"Anyway, I didn't come here to discuss dress colours. I came here to tell you something, my dear."

"Shoot." Sam leaned on the back of her dining chair.

"Well, I have been speaking to the ship's captain and chaplain, and they have agreed to wed us on board."

"'Uh?"

"I want to move the wedding forward."

"'Uh?"

Erik sighed. "We will be marrying in front of the captain, chaplain, Monsieur Khan, his manservant and your guardian next week."

"I thought you were an atheist. Why are we marrying in front of a chaplain. Why are we marrying? Why don't I have a ring?"

"Ah. That." Erik fumbled in his pocket for a second, fishing out a familiar ring.

"Will you marry me… next week?" Erik asked.

"Umm… yes?" Sam mumbled, watching in disbelief as Erik seized her hand, sliding the ring up her finger.

"Oh, how exciting, a shipboard wedding!" Mrs Durham chirped.

"You're not invited. Nor is your snivelling daughter. Or your son." Erik snapped.

"Oh, why can't we have Jack there? He's nice. And Tara likes him." Sam complained.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that."

"I didn't think you would. But why can't he come?"

"Do you understand the meaning of the term 'private wedding'?" Erik growled.

"Um. Yes." Sam nodded.

"There you go."

"Oh." 

"Well, I suppose I'll see you later." Erik growled, bowing his head sardonically to the gaping bitch queens on either side of his now fiancée. Then he walked away, holding his violin by the neck.

"Well… that was unexpected." Sam muttered.

"What a rude man!" Mrs Durham hissed to her daughter. "Imagine not involving us in the wedding!"

Sam got up and left before they could advise her on hair and dress styles.

Oh wow... Erik's gone OBSCENELY OOC now, hasn't he... mopes Ah well... does he truly mean it? Will there really be a wedding?

And what the hell am I going to wear?

And... (last one, I swear) what does Jack know? He knows something!


	11. I've Grown Accustomed To Her Face

Chapter Eleven: I've Grown Accustomed To Her Face

Nadir sighed tiredly.

"Why, Erik?" He murmured, looking over to the masked man who lounged lazily in a comfortable armchair, toying with his cuff links.

"Why what?" He smirked behind the mask.

"It's not a game." Nadir shook his head. "I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into."

"Nadir, I have no idea what on Earth you're talking about." Erik laughed, telling a complete and utter lie. In fact, he was enjoying Nadir's distress at the news he had heard from Sam.

"Erik, you know exactly what I'm talking about, stop playing about like a five year old!"

Nadir snapped, flustered.

"I never got to be a proper five year old, though!" Erik murmured, feigning hurt. "Nadir, I know exactly what I'm doing. Despite your unending belief that I have the mental capability of an infant in all subjects beside music and the arts, I know all implications of what I've done."

Nadir seemed very surprised to hear this.

"Besides, I've had to look after her for two and a half years now! She thinks she's taken care of herself, but you'd be surprised how many people notice her shoes are strange and falling apart, and that she rides astride."

"Her shoes are falling apart?" Nadir's eyebrow twitched upwards.

"She's still got the shoes she wore when she first appeared under the opera house." Erik sighed, in a tone Nadir almost thought was fondness. Then he remembered just who he was talking to and reconsidered.

"She still has a connection to the world she left behind, it would seem." Nadir mused. Erik nodded hesitantly.

"I don't think she'll ever find a way to go back, though." He added hastily. Nadir looked at him in surprise.

"It would matter to you if she were to go?"

"I'm marrying her, aren't I?" Erik snapped, then sighed. "And I think I'm jealous of that boy."

"Jack Durham? Why? She feels nothing for him besides friendship."

"I don't know, but I don't like seeing her with him."

Nadir nodded. He supposed it had something to do with Christine leaving him for Raoul. Perhaps he feared that Sam would do the same?

"Besides," Erik added hesitantly. "I've grown accustomed to her face."

"What?"

"I have. I've grown accustomed to having her around."

"Oh." Nadir looked out of the salt stained porthole. The two men sat in silence for a while, listening to the slapping of the waves against the sides of the ship.

"We're a month away from port, the captain told me this morning. We'll be stopping in one of the tropical ports within the next few days. He says you can use that opportunity, when everyone else will be busy stretching their legs."

"Won't Samantha want to stretch her legs too?" Erik asked, thinking about monkeys. Well, they were going to stop in at a tropical port! Of course there would be monkeys!

"This is Samantha we're talking about. She doesn't like to stand up for more than two hours, let alone walk off the ship until we reach Australia. You wait and see, she'll be so upset that we're stopping off at all that she'll protest by not leaving her room, until we tell her of the plan."

"Oh." Erik nodded, understanding. "Yes, that sounds like her." They nodded together, mentally laughing at the little revolutionary bride Erik had snagged.

Hey, even her father had once called her revolutionary. It was true.

"Should we go and see her?" Nadir asked. "Tell her what's going on?"

"I suppose." Erik shrugged noncommittally. "It will be dinnertime soon. She's nearly always first there- unless she's beaten by the dreadful duet."

"Who?"

"Oh, it's her nickname for Mrs. Durham and her daughter."

"Odious women. I pity the population of Australia. Why are they even going there?"

"Samantha tells me that she heard from the boy that they decided to make the move after his father died, leaving a vast fortune. They've decided that Australia is a very 'exotic' place, and simply must go to see what prospects they may have there. I hear he's keen on going home once they're settled though. Poor boy's homesick but had to accompany his family."

"Honourable indeed!" Nadir cried, unfolding his stout frame from his armchair.

"Hmph." Erik snorted. "Indeed."

"Erik, stop being so jealous. It's very unattractive."

"Do you remember who you're talking to?" Erik's fingers brushed the velvet mask.

"Yes. It's even unattractive in you, Erik. You're nearly forty three years old. Act your age."

"Yes master." Erik replied drily. "Any more orders this evening?"

"Eat your food. I know you haven't been. I'm not so senile as you seem to think me."

Erik scowled. He could have been sure nobody had noticed that.

"Everyone's talking about it."

_Damn_. Erik thought.


	12. The Wedding

I would just like to thank William Goldman for being a genius and writing the novel and screenplay of _The Princess Bride_. Without him, I would be bereft. :nods:

Erik: Dear God… what are you up to girl?

:twiddles thumbs, whistling a merry tune:

Chapter Twelve: The Wedding 

Erik paced nervously in his cabin, fingering his white leather half mask. He had decided to revert to tradition for his wedding. He didn't really understand why he was so nervous. Hadn't he decided he wanted to do this? Hadn't he, in one night of love, decided he no longer loved or felt any attachment to Christine. She had betrayed him… so why did he think of her today? When he asked Nadir, the Persian ex daroga had laughed.

"You're nervous." He had said. "I almost didn't think it could happen!"

Erik scowled and checked that Nadir had the rings in order. They had appeared on his dresser two days ago, with a letter from the DBCA, to the general point that if he didn't look after Sam, they had an extra large jar ready for his castration and cheese graters thirsty for blood. He understood.

Sam sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Madame Giry was adjusting the four-foot long train of pale tulle and silk attached to a tiara of black rosebuds. A veil sat on top of her head, ready to fall over her eyes.

It had taken two hours to get her into her dress and veil, not because it didn't fit her, but because of the intricate detail- and while Madame Giry knew the ins and outs of ballet costumes, wedding gowns were outside her knowledge. The dress had appeared two days earlier with a letter from the DBCA wishing her luck and moaning about the jealousy her friends shared. She was incredibly grateful to her dear cloak aficionados- the dress was simply stunning!

Surprisingly to Sam, her wedding gown was white. She had been sure, seeing as it was a gift from her DBCAian buddies, and she was marrying Erik, it would be black, red, or perhaps even green! But no, she wore variations of white, with some black. The skirt was made of creamy silk, ruched and ruffled, so that it clung gently to the curves of her hips and legs, but billowed out as if swept by a non-existent breeze. The tight, corseted bodice was lighter, ivory with long tight sleeves. From her elbows, black billows fell, sheer bell sleeves that hung to hip level. The bottom of the bodice was cut somewhat like a violin, and over the bodice, attached to a black collar, were the black strings. It felt absolutely stunning to wear.

Outside, the sounds of a tropical port could be heard. Sam had been adamant that she would not consider stepping foot off the boat- it was delaying their arrival in Australia!

"You look wonderful, my dear." Madame Giry said solemnly, stepping back to scrutinise her work. She readjusted two of the strings, which had become twisted. Sam supposed that the ballet mistress's sentimentality was because of Meg. Her daughter had not wanted anything to do with her mother's continued connection with the Phantom. When Antoinette Giry had left France, it had been with the denunciation of her own daughter. Meg was getting married too, about this time. Sam wanted to cry for her. Madame Giry certainly wasn't letting her tears show.

"It's about time to go, Samantha." The ballet mistress told her, squeezing her elbow.

She nodded, hitching up her skirts and following Madame Giry out of her cabin, and up onto the decks. There was nobody around; where there was usually the incessant buzz of chatter, there was eerie silence.

"Come on, my dear. To the chapel. We're late."

Erik was still pacing, however, the setting had changed. He was at the altar in the chapel of the ship, waiting for Sam.

"Where the Hell is she?" He growled dangerously.

"Be patient, Erik. She will be here any minute." Nadir reassured him. "Sit down. I'm sure she's on her way."

"Lady Emily!" Sam cringed, hearing Jack Durham's American twang.

"Go in, Madame Giry. I will be a minute, two at most." The ballet mistress frowned, but let herself into the chapel.

"Jack! How are you!"

"I know the truth." Sam's stomach jolted as she looked up into the young American's eyes. "Samantha. Or should I say Death's Henchwoman? And in there… he's no count. He's the Phantom of the Opera."

"You won't tell anyone?" The wild look of fear made his heart lurch.

"No! You're my friend, or at least, I feel that you are. I would never tell! But he's dangerous, Samantha. Come with me- I know a place you can hide in town until the boat leaves. You'll be free of him."

"You seem to misunderstand my relationship with Erik. I love him. I have for a very long time now. And you suggest I just leave him? It's taken him two years to fully trust me, and God almighty, I'd destroy anyone or anything that broke his trust again. Erik's life is a depressing story, and I think I may possibly be able to change that!" She sighed. "I have to go. He's waiting for me."

The door opened and Nadir appeared.

"Saman… Lady E-"

"He knows, Nadir. It's all right. He says he won't tell."

"Well, Erik is driving himself crazy in there. I had to stop him from strangling the chaplain with his bare hands when he said perhaps you'd run off to see the sights."

"The chaplain said that?"

"I am under the impression that he dislikes Erik. Of course, in all fairness, Erik started it."

"Figures. Anyway, lets go in there, before Erik does kill someone." He paused. "And I think you may be surprised by who is in there."

Erik played the bridal march as the door opened. He couldn't even turn from the piano forte to look at her yet. It was rare that he was nervous. Today he was. Madame Giry cleared her throat and he finished, letting the final note quiver in the air. He stood, turned (with eyes closed) then looked up. If it hadn't been totally out of character, he would have gasped in surprise.

(Egads! How does one write a wedding? Can I skip the vows?

Sanne: No.)

Sam stood at the door, grinning widely. Adi and Mel, her DBCAian queens stood proudly in gowns of cobwebby grey, shot with silver. They too wore veils, making them appear mysterious and wild, like spirits made of mist. Aisle upon aisle of pews was filled with DBCAians in a wide variety of gowns- ranging from medieval style to renaissance and even a few of the latest fashions from Milan's catwalks. Winks and waves flashed, bringing tears to Sam's eyes.

A fiercely played bridal waltz began and Nadir took her arm. _How cool!_ She squealed mentally _I'm being given away by the Persian_! Adi pressed a bouquet of sweetly scented violets into Sam's hands and the small party set off down the aisle.

The bridal march continued well after Adi and Mel had taken their positions and Sam had arrived at the foot of the altar, receiving a kiss from Nadir, who lowered her veil and sat beside Darius, who looked dangerously close to weeping. Madame Giry cleared her throat and Erik stopped mid note, stood stiffly and turned to face his bride. He almost didn't seem to recognise her, but Sam thought that may have been because his view of her was obstructed by a certain veil. Or it may have been because her train was still halfway down the aisle, it was that long.

The chaplain rose before them and Erik and Sam knelt, hands joined.

(tee hee)

The chaplain was a stern, elderly man, who carried himself like a bishop. He looked the type who would have a very deep, authoritative voice.

"Mawidge" He yelped.

(double tee hee)

"Mawidge is what bwings us togewer today..."

He has an impediment that would stop a clock. Erik thought, struggling to hold on to his temper. Sam just struggled in vain to keep herself from laughing. As did the majority of the congregation.

"Mawidge, the bwessed awwangement, that dweam wiffim a dweam..."

There was a rustling in the air ducts above the altar, and Sam looked up to see two sets of curious eyes in very dirty faces.

Don't shove so, mother!

I want to see Lucy! This is most uncomfortable!

Well, it was your idea!

"... Ven wuv, twoo wuv, wiw fowwow you fowever… so tweasuwe your vruv…"

"Skip to the end" Erik muttered, aggrieved. He too had spotted the despicable duet in the air shaft, though he wondered how the portly elder Durham could fit. Besides, he really had no idea how long he could go without Punjabbing the unfortunate chaplain.

"Have you the wing?" Nadir hurried forward, carrying the rings. As they were handed over, a loud _mmph!_ echoed from the air duct. Lucy Durham had kicked her mother out of the way.

"Do you, Ewik…"

"I do!" Erik cried out in frustration.

"And do you, Sa…"

"Say man and wife!" Erik growled.

"No Erik, I have to say 'I do'" Sam sighed.

"You just did. She did, didn't she?" The chaplain saw no other option but to nod in agreement.

"Man and wife." He intoned seriously. "You may now kiss the bwide."

Erik shoved Sam's veil back fiercely and pulled her close for the kiss to end all Phantom kisses. The DBCAians applauded in approval.

"Strange wedding." Lucy Durham frowned.

"Yes. A very strange wedding. Come along, you're not fit to be seen. So dusty. And I hear that the bananas here are truly divine at this time of year." Her mother snapped, softening at the thought of bananas after such a distressing wedding. The man was still wearing a mask! Though the side that had healed from his injury (remembering our cover story) certainly was very handsome! (remembering that mine is a patented KaGerik…Kay!Erik, Gerik hybrid…)

And there you have it! Sam and Erik are MARRIED! And there isn't long left on this one at all:gulps: what will I do with myself?

Erik: Die slowly and painfully?

Erm… no…


	13. Land Ho

Chapter Thirteen: Land Ho!

_Sorry this one's so dratted short… and it's taken so long to write. Combine babysitting from 6am to 5pm, writer's block AND huge loads of study, and you get my recent situation._

_I won't be able to write much for the next MONTH! Either, because exams are starting on October 27th(I think) and I'm down to eight days of school left… So yeah… I'll be a busy little bee until November 13th, which is the date of my last exam. But I promise, as soon as I find out who won the 1883 Melbourne Cup, I'll write you another chapter. Longer. Funnier. With more plot._

Erik and Sam had been married for a little over a month when finally the ship reached Melbourne. He had taken to wearing his half mask on board the ship, and attracted rather too much attention for Sam's liking from the Terrible Two. (Mrs and Lucy Durham for those of you who don't remember…)

So it was with great pleasure that she tripped down the gangplank, losing her balance on purpose and threw Mrs Durham into Port Phillip Bay. Lucy followed, squawking.

"Nice shot, my dear." Erik murmured, taking her arm.

"You're quite welcome." She replied with a wide grin.

Jack Durham followed, a young woman holding a bottle of black hair dye on his arm. He was planning on changing his blonde to a much darker shade when he and his very new girlfriend Tara reached the hotel.

"That's my mother… and my sister." He announced, not really seeming to care.

"Yeah." Sam grinned back at him. "I know."

When they reached the dock, Sam leaned down, pressed a kiss to her fingers and touched the ground.

"I'm home." She said fiercely, straightening slowly.

"Yes. I can see how you would fit in on a dirty dock." Erik snapped.

"Like you can talk, cave dweller." She tapped him lightly on the shoulder, ignoring her husband's deep scowl.

"Let's find a carriage, or some form of transportation." Nadir suggested, hoping to diffuse the situation. Sam muttered something indistinctly and moved towards the elderly Persian. Madame Giry seized Erik's elbow and dragged him over.

After all of the passengers had departed, a large group of young women hurried down the gangplank, searching around wildly.

"I'm sure there'll be a couple of stagecoaches headed our way." Adi murmured. "And, well, if not…" she shrugged. "Thestral-drawn carriages from Harry Potter, anyone? Or Madame Maxime's giant carriage?"

"Giant carriage!" Her minions hissed eagerly.

"Coming up!" A carriage drawn by a quartet of very tall palomino horses drew up on the docks.

"DBCAians?" The driver called.

"Let's go!"

Erik, Sam, Nadir, Darius and Madame Giry sat down to a quiet dinner in their hotel, surrounded by the raucous, multicultural crowds of Melbourne in 1883.

By quiet, of course, we mean five courses, and the best food available. It was November, late spring by Australian standards, and the Melbourne Cup was going to be run in three days. Sam was trying to convince the others that they simply had to go.

"Please?" She whined for the seventh time. "_Please_?" Eighth.

"All right!" Erik growled, in the tone used on those who really were incredibly stupid. Which I think we've established Sam is not.

"Yay!" She shrieked quickly, before tucking into her meal, the third course of five, roast venison. (Which is deer, by the way.)


	14. The Race That Stops A Nation

Chapter Fourteen: The Race That Stops a Nation

"I've never been to a Melbourne Cup before." Sam murmured in awe. "Though last time I saw the Cup, the crowds were definitely much bigger!" She glared as snooty young couple rushed by.

"Not as wild, or enebriated, either." She added, looking around. The crowds had reached 100 000 and, only 20 minutes before the exciting 'race that stops the nation', the people were getting excited.

Sam had convinced her friends that one could not (and I repeat, COULD NOT!) be in Victoria on Melbourne Cup day and not have a bet. They all had. (Well, by my books, anyway. I've been picking Cup horses since I was 2 years old, according to mum. And with a greater choice of placings than not!)

"First Demon." Sam said defiantly, after they had perused the backside. (where the horses are stabled! Pervert…)

"He's scrawny!" Erik protested. "Why not pick something older, _better_!"

"So are you, scrawny I mean. You're not eating again, are you? Come to think of it, the name would apply to you as well."

"Well I'm choosing Martini-Henri" Nadir announced, looking at his raceform thoughtfully. "I won't put money on it though, you know it's against the laws of my religion."

"You've an unfair advantage, Samantha." Madame Giry frowned. "You're from the future."

"What, and I went trawling through past Melbourne Cup results just in case I took a trip back in time? I don't think so." Sam sighed. "I always wanted to have a racehorse of my own in the Melbourne Cup."

"One day, perhaps." Erik mused, looking back at the horses. He had always liked horses, and thoroughbreds were fine examples of the creature.

"Excellent! I'll buy one tomorrow." Sam grinned. "Or as soon as I find a good one."

The bugle announcing the race sounded and the small group hurried trackside, finding a place by the fence.

"Look! Martini-Henri seems very composed, I think he'll place." Sam smiled, watching the horses canter up to the gates.

"Good. I put my money on him." Erik muttered, watching the horse's fluid strides.

"First Demon looks so beautiful." Sam sighed. "I wish he were mine."

The horses lined up for the start of the race, some prancing nervously, others standing still, ready and waiting.

"And they're off and racing!" The commentator called as the horses sprang forward. "And it's Archie in the lead, closely followed by Magnet and Kingsdale, with Dirk Hatteraick a length away in fourth…"

Sam's eyes latched onto her choice, First Demon, a slight but beautiful bay colt who sat midfield as the field took the first turn on the Flemington course. The race caller's voice faded to a blur in her ears as the horse strode on, Martini-Henri on his shoulder and a horse called Commotion running against his hindquarters. The bay colt fought on as the race continued, as a horse from a little behind surged ahead.

"He's taking his run- but I think it's too far out!" Sam cried as First Demon charged forward, picking up the pace. Martini-Henri surged up to match his strides, Commotion angling in beside the other horse.

"And as they cross the line it's Martini-Henri first, a fading First Water second and Commotion a head away third. After him came First Demon, Sardius, Magnet, Aide-de-Comp, Dukedom, Claptrap, Calma, Recovery…"

"Told you that horse couldn't win." Erik said smugly as Sam turned away from the track.

"Ah, shove it." She snapped back, rushing forward to shove through the crowd converging by the winner's circle. Martini-Henri pranced wildly as the winner's rug was placed over his sweaty back.

"You told me this horse was a champion!" A snotty voice cried a little way off. In the saddling stall labelled '4th', a furious man snatched up the reins of the tired bay colt. "You said he would storm home! I can't believe I paid 4,000 pounds for this creature!" A stout man that Sam presumed must be the trainer flushed red.

"Well sir, he's young, perhaps he wasn't quite ready; he did start his run home a little earlier than I'd hoped…"

"Excuse me!" Sam ran forward. "Excuse me, sir!"

"What?" The angry owner turned on her.

"Erm… if you're willing to sell… I'll take him off your hands for five thousand… that will cover your loss for buying him, plus a little extra…"

"You want a pathetic pile of dog meat like that for five thousand pounds? You're cheating yourself out of good money, girl."

"Still, she has offered you five thousand." Erik stepped up, his voice silky and cold. "What do you say?"

The horse's owner paled. "Seven thousand and he's yours. To-t-to cover the training fees and feed as well."

"Six thousand." Erik growled.

"Six and a half."

"Six."

The man hesitated as Erik's fingers convulsed. "Deal. You can pick him up from his stables tomorrow."

"Good." Erik took Sam's arm. "Come along now, dear. We had best be getting home. But before that, I think I may collect my winnings. Ten thousand pounds."

"Ten thousand?" Sam choked.

"Yes. Does that bother you? I put eight thousand for the win on Martini-Henri."

"Smug bastard." Sam growled as they walked off.

"Erik, Samantha, a carriage awaits to take you to your… erm… honeymoon getaway." Nadir swallowed the last words as he said them.

"Excellent. Where are we going?" Erik asked, clutching Sam's arm all the tighter, more possessively. She blushed.

"Camperdown, I believe. The future home of one Miss Adria…"

"It's Adi." Sam cut in. "She prefers Adi."

"Right…." Nadir looked around warily. He knew the powers of a DBCAian queen.


	15. An Interesting Start For A Honeymoon

Chapter Fifteen: An Interesting Start For A Honeymoon

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"Have you finished asking?"

"Are we there yet?"

"Nearly."

"Are we there yet?"

"Do you want me to turn you into a ceiling ornament?"

Sam shut up abruptly, halfway through another 'are we there yet?'. Erik had begun to wonder why he had ever considered marrying this juvenile delinquent of a young woman. But there was little he could do about it, short of murdering her and he doubted that Nadir, Darius or even Madame Giry would have appreciated that very much.

"So you've been to this house in… what is it? Camperdown?"

Sam nodded. "Not recently… only in the future." She had taking to saying the phrase in an absurdly strange voice, wiggling her fingers.

"Do that again and I'll strap you to the top of the carriage."

"Fun." Sam rolled her eyes and looked out at the streets racing by. "Oh wow, we're actually in Camperdown!" Somewhat interested, Erik looked through the curtains in the carriage window as it stopped abruptly, throwing Sam out of the seat.

"Ah crap… I hate it when that happens." She groaned, pulling herself up again.

"Sir, madam, we have arrived." The carriage driver opened the door on Sam's side, trying not to stare at the masked man who he had been told was her husband. He'd been told it might not be a good idea to look at him for too long- the Persian gentleman who had contacted him about private use of his express coach had explained that this man was dangerous. If it weren't for the impressive bribe he had been paid, he might have spoken to the copper he'd met in the bar at their stop over the night before.

"My friend will pay you on your return to Melbourne, as organized." Erik said as he stepped out of the carriage.

"Very good sir." The driver became decidedly nervous as the tall, thin man's eyes, golden as a lion's behind the black velvet mask, met his. Very dangerous, he had said. Yes, he certainly believed it.

Sam waved as the carriage drove off at a far more leisurely pace than the one the horses had kept up on the journey to Camperdown. "Well, that was a strange man."

"Your ideas of strange are beyond all reason." Erik snorted, lifting the three suitcases they had brought with ease.

"Molded, of course, by the company I keep." Sam answered affectionately, snatching one of the cases from Erik's grip. "Come on, let's go introduce ourselves- or reintroduce myself, in my case- to Adi's house."

"Stop." Erik growled dangerously as Sam approached the door. He pulled the key from his waistcoat pocket and turned it in the lock, dropping all three suitcases in the hallway beyond before returning to Sam's side.

"I believe it is tradition." And without further ado, he lifted Sam into his arms with a grunt and carried her into the house. She grinned in delight… before she was dropped unceremoniously onto her feet as Erik kicked the door closed.

"Ooh, sometimes I want to fry you in your own bodily fluids…" She groaned, scowling.

"That is a very unattractive expression, my dear."

"Oho, well I'm sorry for spoiling the view." Sam smiled luxuriously and strode forward, reaching up to snatch Erik's mask off and pull him down for a long, violent kiss.

"What was that for?" He gasped.

'Tour time." Sam replied, spinning away from the surprised ex-Phantom. "To our right, we have the room that was most recently Adi's bedroom- though there were two others that were her rooms. Oh, it's been filled with books for us!" Sam ran her fingers over a shelf of books that she knew wouldn't actually be available. "Oh, the third Inheritance book, the seventh Harry Potter book…I love whoever stocked us with them."

"Is this supposed to be part of the tour?"

"Shut up, you. Anyway, over here… our bedroom! This was the room Adi's youngest two brothers slept in last time I was in here. And down the corridor… on the right was Josh's room each of the times I was here, though it was originally Adi's. And on the left was Adi's room the first time I was here…"

"How many times did you come here?"

"Well, I was down this way three times, I think- I stayed here the first time, the other two I was at Mel's in Terang and visited Adi. Anyway, here's the kitch… Noni's cookies!" Sam squealed with joy and pounced on a tray of still warm triple choc chip cookies.

"Your corset is hard enough to tighten as it is." Erik smirked as Sam slowed, and groaned as she took a cookie, taking a bite with a satisfied smile and a moan of pleasure that he'd heard once before… the previous night.

"My dear, if you are trying to seduce me, I think you should forget about it now." He ran a gloved finger over her neck lazily and stole the cookie from her hand.

"Finish the tour." He breathed in her ear.

"Ooh, you're cruel." Sam shivered, then straightened and stepped away purposefully. "Finish it yourself. I'm going to read." She smirked lazily at Erik and walked away, back towards the study/ library that had been Adi's makeshift bedroom last time she had seen it.

Rolling his eyes, Erik sat at the piano by his side and lifted the lid. He winced as the note he hit played sour. "Untuned." He growled, as if it were a curse word.

Sam picked out a copy of Adi's story Immortal War with a short squeal of joy after a long perusing of the shelves in search of the perfect read.

"I thought she'd never finish this!" She laughed flopping into an armchair and opening it up to the familiar opening of the first chapter. As she began to read, Erik finished his expert tuning of the piano and began to play. It was the stormy, passionate duet from The White Rose and the Nightingale, Erik's highly popular opera. Turning the pages, Sam began to hum along idly, having heard it many times, sung by some of the greatest operatic sopranos in the world.

"Shut up." Erik called. "You make this piece sound like it is made for the yowling of cats."

"What's wrong with yowling cats?" There was silence.

"Just stop humming along. If I want you to accompany my music, I will tell you."

Sam sighed and returned to her book, grinning as Julian was introduced. Hours ticked by in solitude; Erik's fingers flew over the piano keys, Sam's eyes over the pages… until…

"Samantha!"

"What is it now, O Great Erik of the Music?"

"Come here."

"Why?"

"All right. Stay there."

Sam groaned in annoyance. "Fine." She really didn't mind being at the beck and call of the Phantom of Retirement… except when she was reading.

"Yes master?" Erik had met her halfway up the hallway.

"My dear, I believe it is approximately seven thirty in the evening already."

"And?"

"I hope you know how to cook in the godforsaken oven here."

"Oh. No. I don't." Sam's mouth twitched up into a smile.

"Well, there's a lamb ready for roasting in the meat safe."

"Really?"

"It's been seasoned as well."

"I'm just amazed that you actually went in search of food." Sam moved past him to inspect the ancient oven in the kitchen. Her perusal was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Will you get that?" Sam asked. But Erik had already retreated to the library. Cursing anti-social Phantoms who had taken up retirement, Sam hurried to the door and opened it.

"Hallo lovey." A red cheeked woman smiled up at Sam, who was surprised to meet someone shorter than her. "I'm here to cook for you- I work in the kitchen at the pub down the road and your friend employed me to cook for you at seven thirty every night."

"Oh wonderful! I couldn't figure that oven out if I tried!" Sam exclaimed, opening the door wider. "Please, come in! There's a lamb haunch in the meat safe, ready to be cooked. Or so my husband tells me."

"Oh, is he home?"

"Yes, but he's very shy…" Sam shook her head. "Anti-social, like."

"Oh? Tis a shame, I'm sure." The woman bustled into the kitchen and began to prepare to cook. "You just go about your business, love. This will be a couple of hours yet."

"Thankyou." Sam hurried back along the hall to where Erik was still hiding.

"Baby, hiding away from a lovely woman who's here to cook for us." Sam teased as she closed the doors behind her.

"Shy am I?" He stood menacingly over her, his eyes blazing in amusement. "I don't think I'll ever tire of the excuses you come up with for me."

"Plenty more where it came from." Sam shrugged, swaying towards her husband, whose mouth twitched in amusement.


	16. What'

Chapter 15: 'What'

Don't own the 1989 Don Juan Triumphant. You know that already, though.

The arrangement lasted in a perfectly harmonious fashion for a week and a half. Enjoying the solitude and peace of the location, Erik had decided it might be a good idea to extend the honeymoon to three weeks, rather than the originally agreed upon week and a half. Sam had no problems with this arrangement at all. She was having far too much fun.

This fact worried Erik. Sam enjoying herself led to odd ideas.

"Erik?" She swirled her way into the room, where he was trying to compose a new aria on the piano. There was no point in retiring from composition even if he was married, Erik thought.

"What is it?" He growled, scrawling down a series of notes.

"What do you think of this?" She thrust the latest edition of the local paper in his face. An article about New York in winter and its merits as a tourist attraction glared up at him.

"What of it?"

"Why are we beginning everything with 'what'? Just read it." She sighed, sitting on the stool beside him and looking over the pages of not-exactly-neat compositions. She could read music if she tried really hard. Not that she often did. She'd given up on that in Year Nine.

"Reasonably well written." Erik shrugged, handing her back the paper.

"Thanks. I wrote it."

"You what?" He spluttered, leaping up. Sam, who had been leaning against his arm, fell off the stool.

"I wrote it."

"What happened to keeping a low profile?"

"There you go with the 'what' again!" Sam rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. "I hope you'll note that the name on the article is not mine, and the payment for writing it went into a Post Office box. They don't know my real name, or where I live."

Erik glared. "It's still a bad idea."

"Well what about you? Note that I prefaced my 'what' with a 'well'. Composing again? Not exactly a low profile job."

"It can be." Erik replied, sounding very defensive.

"So can writing." Sam shot back levelly. "There. Argument over. Now play it for me."

Erik raised his eyebrow. "Demanding things from me at a time like this? After the demands you put in last night?"

"Yes, I can see why you'd have a problem with me wanting to stay up and finish the book I was reading. Because it interfered with your piano-tinkerings so very much." Their eyes locked, both stubbornly vying to win the stare-off. Sam looked away first.

"If I weren't married to you…"

"I know, I know, you'd turn me into a pretty ceiling decoration. I've heard it all before." She smiled slyly and kissed his hand. "If you don't want to play for me, that's fine. Good day to you, Erik, mon chere." She blinked. "Wow, French and with the right accent and all! I'm going for a walk."

"You are not." Erik retorted. "I'm playing for you." He sat down, a scowl fixed on his masked face. His fingers danced over the piano keys, letting a sweet, haunting melody fly. Sam had heard it before and sang, accordingly.

Your eyes see but my shadow

My heart is overflowing

There is so much you could hope to know

You're content not knowing

Tenderly, you could see…

My soul…

He stopped playing. "Those aren't the words."

"They're not?"

"No! I hadn't even written lyrics!"

"Well I've heard the tune before. In a Phantom movie."

"That never appeared on your damned soundtracks." Erik looked puzzled.

"Not from that movie. A horror version, starring Freddy Kreuger." She grinned. "I mean Robert Englund."

"What?"

"Ugh, there you go again! Don't worry about it, it's futuristic pop culture."

"In which case I have no interest."

Sam nodded. "Thought so." There was a pause. "So, what lyrics will you put to it?"

Erik shrugged. "I'd like to complete the score first. Lyrics can come later."

"Have you got anything else?"

"One piece, it's not finished. But it has lyrics."

"Ooh! Do play!" Sam bounced slightly in her seat.

"No… not until it's finished."

She pouted. "Oh, fine."

There was silence for a minute… two… three…

"What are you staring at?" Erik asked.

"You. And a fine, if skinny and pale, sight it is." Sam nodded. "Shall I go somewhere else, or would you like my company?"

Erik pretended to think. "Yes. I would like your company. As long as you don't go questioning every time I say the word 'what'."

Sam swept over to sit on his lap, grinning widely. "Deal. Now… I think last night I may have asked for a kiss that you didn't end up giving me… and that's not very fair now, is it?"


	17. The Stable Inspection

Chapter 17: The Stable Inspection

Three weeks later++

"Killandale"

"No."

"Nightingale"

"No."

"Well what are we going to call it then?" Sam glared, hands on hips.

They had been home for two weeks, and Nadir had managed to procure a large property and a number of well-bred horses to go with Sam's first racehorse- First Demon.

They were starting up a Thoroughbred-breeding stable. Sam insisted.

"I don't care, just give it a normal name!" Erik growled. The argument had been running for an hour now, and tension was beyond breaking point.

"Might I suggest you name the place after your first horse?" Nadir put forward wealy.

"What, First Demon Stud?" Erik snorted.

"First Demon Thoroughbreds?" Sam tested the words tentatively. "Sounds nice to me. Erik?"

The former Phantom shrugged. "Better than anything you've mentioned."

Sam grimaced. "Thanks."

He mock-bowed in reply.

"Well, now that's settled, let's go see the horses in the stables!" Sam finished in an excited squeal. She seized Erik's hand and began to drag him along. He balked, pulling away.

"No."

"No?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I'm not coming." He glared down at her. "I have work to do."

Sam sighed heavily. "You leave me no choice, Erik." She sounded almost regretful. Almost.

"What are you planning in that sick little mind of yours?" He asked nervously. That look always signalled something worrying.

She strode up to him silently, slid her hand around his thin waist and pulled herself against him. Then, pulling his head down, she kissed him passionately, her hands reaching up to hold him down and cup his cheek tenderly.

Erik was convinced.

"Here he is, the star of our stable!" Sam crowed, reaching out to pat the bay colt named First Demon, fourth placegetter in the Melbourne Cup.

"There are better bred and looking horses in this barn." Erik muttered, looking around.

"Since when did looks and breeding really matter? Look at you. Look at me."

Erik rolled his eyes, inspecting one of the geldings in the opposite row. A nameplate read 'Turnabout'.

"Now he looks like a good runner." He crossed to where the grey looked out over the door in interest, stepping forward as Erik approached.

"Yeah, he's a Group One winner from Sydney. Just beginning to recover from an injury, we got him because the owner went bankrupt. Cost a thousand pounds."

"You spent more on that hack you love so much."

"Yep. He's beautiful." She hugged the colt's face. "What do you think of this one?" She crossed to a proud stallion, about five years old, jet black and firey as hell.

"Impressive." Erik stood behind Sam, his arms snaking around her waist. "Who is he?"

"His name is Coventry Lad. I think he shows promise; they've just been racing him over the wrong distances. He needs a longer track."

"Ah. And you know this how?"

"Saw him race at the Cup. He was in the third race, came fifth. He was catching them really fast, but ran out of room."

"Indeed."

"Mmhmm." They continued down the stable row like this, both Sam and Erik putting in their opinions about the horses. Most were exceptionally well bred or successful racehorses, which made Erik wonder just how much of his fortune Nadir had used to buy the animals.

Still, Erik liked horses, and these were magnificent creatures.

"You look speculative." He almost jumped at her voice.

"Do I?"

"Yep. Whatcha thinking of?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Nothing like… this?" She pulled him into an empty stable and kissed him violently. "You're married, Erik. No need to be chaste."

END CHAPTER 


	18. Erik Gets Fluffmantic

Chapter Eighteen: Erik Gets Fluffmantic.

And there's a reason for it. I'm trying to prove to myself (and Erik, even though my Erik-muse walked out on me months ago) that story Erik is very much in love with young Sam. Because it's important, especially seeing as what's going to happen in the epilogue.

The song is from The Swan Princess 3.

"I can't take it anymore! You just can't see anything my way, you refuse to understand anything in any other way than your own!"

And she had stormed out, saddling up her riding horse and galloping off to stay with Madame Giry. To tell the truth, Erik didn't even remember what the argument was about, nor why he had wanted her to go.

It shamed him to admit the glee he had felt as she stormed out.

Now, seated at the fine piano he had brought with him from America, Erik was lonely. It was something he hadn't felt since he had been in Paris, and it shocked him to realise this. Not even Nadir could remove the terrible melancholy; the Persian was in the next room, writing a letter to his cousin in Sydney, who had helped him procure places aboard the boat to Melbourne and this very house.

A crumpled, slightly torn sheet of music sat on the stand; the song he had begun to write for Sam on their honeymoon. The lyrics had changed quite a lot.

Erik was trying to finish the last line. All he could think of were the other uses for a piano, which had very little to do with music and a lot to do with things that married people did.

"Erik, are you still fuming over that argument?" Nadir called, as the elapsed time since Erik had actually played a note reached fifteen minutes, forty-seven seconds.

"Isn't it enough that I buy her horses? That I write her music, made her my bride? Isn't it enough that I run her business, solve most of her problems, protect and provide?" He snarled. "Why must I also get down on my knees and apologise?"

"You started it, Erik. It's up to you to make it up." Nadir waited patiently for a reply.

Erik played a few notes.

Because I love her, I need her

Like earth needs the sun

I need the one I love

To keep my hope bright

My head right

My heart fighting on

Until I am back in her arms.

Because I love her, I need her

Like summer needs rain

To grow and sustain each day

I hear her singing and bringing

New strength to my soul

Until I am back in hr arms

Miles apart

Yet still my heart

Can hear her melody

I'm more than sure

That I can't endure

Without her love for me

Because I love her, and need her

Like I need to breathe

Did Adam need Eve like this?

He hesitated. Of course, what a perfect end! How could he not have thought of it earlier? He played on, singing the final verses with even greater vigour.

Now I see clearly, I nearly

Gave up all I had

So whatever our differences were…

I'll bid them goodbye

I'll give love a try

And all because I love her…

Nadir chuckled to himself, signing off on his letter. "I knew you'd understand it eventually."

Erik looked up, out of the window. Sam was walking in through the garden gate, humming contentedly.


	19. Epilogue

Epilogue: Black Dress

March, 1903- _30 years later_.

The homestead on First Demon Thoroughbreds was silent, unusual even for this early hour of the morning. Erik could usually be heard knocking out a tune on his piano, young Christine's daughter would be squalling loudly, the horses wouldn't be out yet, so why couldn't he hear any of it?

"Nadir! Nadir!" Christine sounded hysterical. The ancient Persian gentleman heaved himself up.

"Darius?" The manservant was at his side. Nadir took a moment to note the thick streak of silver hair and deep lines around the sixty two year old's face.

"Master, Erik is not in the house."

Nadir pulled himself out of bed faster than his eighty seven year old joints had allowed him to do for years. He pulled a robe over his nightshirt and made his way into the hallway with Darius' aid. The swift movement had taken its toll on him.

"Nadir! I can't find papa!"

"What's all this noise about?" Raphael, first born of Erik and Samantha's three children, charged out of his bedroom.

"Papa's gone!"

Raphael frowned. "He was up until early in the morning, playing that song."

That song.

Samantha had died two weeks previously, bitten by a snake on a ride with Erik. He'd ripped the snake apart, but hadn't been able to save his wife. They had buried her a week ago, and ever since, Erik had been playing a half forgotten song, gradually piecing it together over the last seven days. Nadir recalled it; Sam had sung it a few times while living with him.

I dug you up this morning

And took you home

To have you here beside me

Cold but close

I made my mind up last night

That heaven just can't have you

"Oh God." Christine whispered. "We should wake Liam."

The teen wandered out of the dining room.

"Mister Daroga? Raphael? Christine? The table is all messy in there, there's food all dribbling down one side of the table." He paused. "Where's father?"

Nadir winced. Liam had taken the loss of his mother almost as hard as Erik; how would he cope with the loss of his father too? For the Persian knew exactly what the rest of the song said.

"He's living it out." Raphael murmured hollowly. "He cracked."

I made you breakfast

But you would not eat

So, I took your black dress off

And washed you clean

I made my mind up last night

That heaven just can't have you

"What are you talking about, Raphael?" Liam's eyes were wide, fearful.

"That song he's been playing all week." Christine chose each word carefully. "Do you remember all of the words, Liam?"

His forehead creased as he thought about it. "Yes… but father wouldn't really…"

"There is one way to find out; follow the song." Nadir sighed. "What happened next?"

The sheets are creased from your last day

A silhouette of where you lay

They'll find your headstone in the yard

With your black dress and my guitar

"I'll check." Raphael was pale- at twenty-seven he was a fully-grown man, unafraid of anything… except this. This was truly strange, even for his father, who he had been told used to sleep in a coffin.

"No, we'll all go." Twenty-two year old Christine was married with a small child of her own, staying with her family while her husband was on a trip overseas to set up a branch of his business in New York. "It's the best way to do it. Just let me go and get Antoinette."

Antoinette, the baby named after the late Madame Giry, who had taught Christine to dance.

All that fifteen-year-old Liam could do was nod shakily.

The small, nervous group made their way through the house, towards the small garden at the front of the house. There, among the vibrant roses, was the elegant marble headstone that had graced Sam's grave, the fine black dress she had been buried in hanging over it, swinging forlornly in the breeze and Erik's best violin propped against it.

I'll carry you back to your grave

Where you and I will always stay

Sam had been buried at the back of the property, near her favourite horse, First Demon. He had ended up a champion on the track, and the father of more champions. She had often laughed about it, telling everyone how it proved that a little faith and perseverance could do anything.

This coming from a woman who had no patience and often forgot to finish projects.

"He couldn't have gone that long ago." Christine said shakily, cradling her baby close to her chest. "He won't be… yet…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"I'll saddle up the horses." Liam offered.

"No." Nadir said quietly.

"We've got to! He can't do this, it's…"

"His way." Nadir cut in firmly. "Come on, inside. You all need to sit down together, and come to terms with your father's death." His face drooped sadly, making him appear older than ever.

All of Erik's children knew not to argue with the ex-Daroga. They obeyed him without a word.

Later, the maker of the gravestone would be contacted, Nadir decided, he could make the new one. Erik wouldn't want a service, though perhaps Liam could play his violin as the grave was re-covered? He had certainly picked up his father's talents with the instrument.

Nadir spotted something black on the floor beside the front door and stooped to pick it up. Erik's black velvet mask; he had taken to wearing that after Sam's death. She had given it to him before they left America, he remembered.

Black for mourning. Black for desire. Black for loss. Black for Erik.

So he is facing death without his mask. Nadir nodded. That is fitting.

"I am getting far too old for this." He sighed as the door closed behind him.

I close the casket it gets dark

They'll find us in each other's arms.


End file.
